


Five Times Haymitch and Effie Almost Said "I Love You," and One Time They Each Did

by Lobster



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: 75th Hunger Games, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Geese, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Literal Sleeping Together, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, POV Alternating, Post-Mockingjay, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Epilogue Mockingjay, Suicidal Thoughts, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-10-24 19:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17709866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lobster/pseuds/Lobster
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin. Five times Haymitch and Effie didn't say "I love you," and then one time each of them did. Chronological order.





	1. First

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Juxtaposie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juxtaposie/gifts).



> Hey, look, I can write something that isn't porn! Thanks as ever to Juxtaposie for the beta and brainstorming. <3

It was just past 10:30pm in the arena and the wave was cresting on the beach. Effie was squirming around uncomfortably, thin beads of sweat making it through her makeup. “Haymitch,” she whispered, eyeing the wave, “if I don’t go _right now_ I’m going to burst!”

Haymitch glanced over at her before turning his attention back to the screen. Beetee was about to start executing his plan. He needed to pay close attention to make sure everything went as expected, but he also knew he had to keep Effie close by if he was going to be able to protect her in the aftermath if their plan was successful.

“Haymitch!” Effie insisted.

“Can’t you just piss yourself, princess? This is kind of important!” Haymitch said, irritated.

“No, I cannot ‘just piss myself!’ What is wrong with you? They aren’t even doing anything interesting, just wrapping a wire around a tree!”

“Beetee won by electrocuting the field, or don’t you remember? A bit before your time, maybe?”

“Who cares how Beetee won? We are supposed to be rooting for _Katniss_ or _Peeta_ , Haymitch, in case you don’t remember! We are a team, even if you _gave Finnick your bracelet_!”

“And Finnick and Beetee and even Jo are on the same team. Give it a rest. I’m trying to do my job here. Notice I haven’t had a drink all day?”

He could tell she had noticed, but was too mad to say anything about it. “Fine, go take a leak. Be back in ninety seconds,” he said.

“Eighty,” Effie countered. It was always a competition between them to see who could take shorter breaks.

He turned back to the console confident she’d be back almost immediately… but there was no triumphant crowing to announce she had, in fact, made it in some sort of record-breaking seventy seconds. There was nothing in two minutes, three… The minutes dragged on, and no Effie, as his friends did their job wrapping the tree and beginning to unspool the wire.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened. Effie had been intercepted by Peacekeepers in the _ninety seconds_ he’d fucked up and let her slip away. How could he have been so stupid? He should have just insisted she mess herself and deal with the resulting tantrum until they were on the hovercraft and he could explain the whole situation. Now he might never see her again, might never get to say… whatever it was you might say to a person like Effie if you thought you might not see her again.

And whatever it was you said to a person like Effie had to wait, couldn’t be something he could think about, because it was almost midnight in the arena. Jo had cut the trackers out and bashed Katniss’s head in, Katniss was running around screaming like an idiot, trying to draw attention to herself (and away from Peeta, he knew). Chaff’s cannon fired, oh, Chaff’s cannon fired, but Haymitch couldn’t think of that because the piranha beetles were winding down in the next section over and there was so little time. Peeta bumped into Brutus and Haymitch was sure he was about to suffer another unthinkable loss when Peeta somehow managed to slit Brutus’ throat. Brutus’ cannon fired and the real free-for-all began. Peeta was wailing for Katniss through the trees, but she didn’t answer back. Instead, she nocked an arrow, pointed it at Enobaria.

 _No!_ he thought desperately. _Remember what I said, sweetheart! Remember the enemy!_

A look of confusion passed across Katniss’s face, then one of determination. She picked up Beetee’s knife, secured it to her arrow, took aim… shot directly at the chink in the forcefield, precisely as the lightning struck the tree, precisely as she needed to do.

“Nice job, sweetheart,” he whispered, as all hell broke loose both in the arena and the Viewing Center, screens flashing brilliant white and then empty black. The remaining mentors stood up, armed to the teeth. They were prepared to fight their way out, rebel or not. Haymitch stood with them, his knife revealing itself from its hidden sheath. But he wasn’t thinking of the arena, or an escape plan. He was thinking of the woman that he was about to leave behind to Snow’s uncertain mercies, and what she… how she… what he should have said.


	2. Second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Referenced torture.

Effie had given up all hope. Beaten, bruised, and starving, huddled dirty and naked in the corner of the freezing cell, she knew there was no hope of rescue. Her captors had come for her on the third day of the Games, arrested her, and taken her in on charges of treachery and sedition against the state. 

When they had shown her videos of Katniss blowing up the arena, she had refused to believe it. The sheer audacity of a plan to destroy an arena from the inside had been too much for her, and their insistence that she had been a part of this rebel plot was staggering. But then she had reconsidered. She had always known Haymitch harbored traitorous thoughts; he had whispered some of them to her under the influence of too much drink or in moments of passion in bed together. She knew her refusal to turn him in made her a traitor as well. This point had been driven home by months of torture under the vagaries of the Peacekeepers until she was far past the point of breaking.

She was not the only one being tortured; she had been shown footage, heard the jabberjay cries of all of her friends apprehended, tortured, and killed over the months. Cinna, Portia, Haymitch, Katniss, Peeta, and more besides were all dead. She was the only one left alive and soon she would be dead too if the Peacekeepers would just hurry up and get on with it. She had no idea why they were keeping her alive and she didn’t care; she just wanted the pain to end. Time extended interminably as she stared off into the distance, comprehending nothing. Once upon a time she’d cared how long she’d been there, had marked off days by the number of times they’d fed her. Then she’d realized they weren’t feeding her every day, and she’d learned that once upon a time was for fairy tales. When the food started coming even less frequently still, she’d completely despaired. She could have been there a month or ten years for all she knew. There was no difference to her.

She started at the sound of the key in the door. They were coming for her again. What more could they possibly want from her? She had given them any information she could possibly give, or could possibly fabricate in the hopes they would go away and the pain would stop.

Two figures stood in the doorway, both larger men, silhouetted in the light from the door. Someone flipped a switch outside and the light in the room instantly got several levels brighter, piercing her skull like an arena knife. Effie shielded herself instinctively against its harshness.

“Hey, turn that back down, would you? You’re hurting her!” said a voice in an accent that flooded Effie with warm feelings. The light in the room dimmed in response to the voice and Effie removed her arm from her face.

The two figures approached her. One squatted down to look her in the face. “Effie? Effie, it’s Haymitch. I’m here for you.”

Haymitch? Haymitch was dead. Effie opened her mouth to tell this man that but her lips were chapped and her mouth was too dry to speak. All she could manage was a croak.

“Get her something to drink, Plutarch. Can’t you see she needs water? And a blanket? She’s freezing!”

The larger of the two figures disappeared as the one with the nice voice continued to hover next to her. What was this game the Peacekeepers were playing now? Water and blankets? She didn’t understand. The man with the kind voice reached out a hand toward her face and she shied away, expecting a blow and knowing there was no way to stop it.

“Effie… fuck, Effie, I’m so sorry.” Tears were streaming down his face. Peacekeepers never cried. Maybe this man wasn’t a Peacekeeper. But who was he? The voice, the kindness… Gears that had been stationary for months began to turn in Effie’s mind.

“I never should have let you out of my sight. You were supposed to come to Thirteen with us. Fuck. Effie, I’m just so sorry.” The man broke down, his arm outstretched, inches from her cheek.

Something finally clicked in Effie’s mind. “Haymitch,” she croaked.

He looked up sharply, expression pained. This time she didn’t flinch as his hand brushed her cheek and slowly withdrew.

“Thought you were dead,” she managed. “Need to tell you…”

“Need to tell me what, princess?” Haymitch said, looking at her, but just then Plutarch came back with a glass of water and two thick blankets. He handed the blankets to Haymitch, who wrapped her snugly in them, then Plutarch held the glass to her lips.

“Drink slowly, Miss Trinket. If you don’t, you might throw up.”

Effie swallowed the water obediently. It was the most amazing thing she had ever tasted. She looked carefully between Plutarch and Haymitch.

“Need to tell you… thank you. For rescuing me.”

“Anytime, Miss Trinket,” said Plutarch.


	3. Third

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Post-traumatic stress

When the kids had suggested Effie come out to Twelve to take care of him, Haymitch had assumed that would mean she would be looking out for him, making sure he didn’t spend all his days at the bottom of a bottle anymore. What he didn’t anticipate was how much she seemed to need him as well.

They hadn’t started out sleeping together. But one night, while Haymitch was sitting restlessly in the kitchen contemplating a glass of gin he heard Effie cry out in her sleep. Cry his name. She had sounded so desperate that he hadn’t been able to ignore it. He’d gone to her, woken her up, held her until she stopped shaking and crying. The next night she had moved to his bed to sleep instead of the guest bedroom. Slowly they had let their sleep patterns converge until they were falling asleep together, or trying to.

Haymitch still wasn’t used to sleeping at night. The night was full of shadows which haunted and plagued his mind. Effie was used to sleeping in the dark, but she would periodically wake up screaming and shaking, full of terrors she refused to give voice to.

Haymitch was dozing, not really sleeping, when Effie tensed up beside him and began to moan. He was instantly awake, cradling her, stroking her hair, holding her hand.

“Hey, princess, hey. Wake up. It’s just a dream. Nothing’s going to hurt you. Wake up. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Effie struggled through the veil of sleep and the vestiges of her nightmare until she managed to force herself awake, shaking and crying.

“Hey, you’re awake now. It’s gonna be OK. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Haymitch held Effie in his arms as she sobbed into his chest, curled against him.

“You want to tell me about it?”

Effie only answer was to continue to sob as though her heart would break.

“That’s OK, princess. You don’t have to tell me about it.” Haymitch stroked her hair. He remembered sobbing himself to sleep in this bed long ago. He wished he’d had someone to hold him and stroke his hair and tell him nothing was going to hurt him, even if it wasn’t true. At least he could be there for Effie.

He remembered something else, something he had wished for, craved. He could barely bring himself to admit it, even, but for Effie, he could do it. Holding her close, he started to sing quietly,

 _Deep in the meadow, under the willow_  
_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_  
_Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes_  
_And when again they open, the sun will rise._

Effie started. Haymitch grew self-conscious and tongue-tied. He couldn’t finish the first verse. She squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” she whispered. She curled up against him and sighed.

Haymitch wasn’t sure what had just happened, what had just passed between them. Inside his head was echoing the rest of the verse.

 _Here it's safe, here it's warm_  
_Here the daisies guard you from every harm_  
_Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true  
Here is the place where I love you._


	4. Fourth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Post-traumatic stress, references to torture, implied past abuse

If there was one constant in their lives, it was that Haymitch and Effie argued. Sometimes it scared the kids, how much they argued. Lately, it was starting to scare them, too. Haymitch was getting nastier with his insults; Effie’s silent treatments were lasting longer and longer. She was finding herself sleeping at the kids’ more and more and he was being increasingly more stubborn about asking her to come back.

This fight had started over Haymitch’s perpetual inability to just pick up after himself. Effie didn’t see how it was possible for one man to create such a disaster in such a short time. Even she could manage to bring a plate to the kitchen or put her laundry in the hamper, and she’d had people to do the actual work for her for over a decade.

“It’s not fucking _hard_ , Haymitch,” she spat. “Trash goes in the trash can. Laundry goes in the hamper. Dishes go in the sink. It’s not _brain surgery_.”

“Oh, like you know anything about doing a hard day’s work, _princess_ ,” he fired back, using his pet name for her like an epithet. “Sitting up there in the Capitol, afraid to break a nail.”

He gestured wildly with the words, “in the Capitol,” and as he finished speaking, his arm came near her face. Effie froze, her mind blanking. Sudden images of Peacekeepers with their arms raised, poised to strike, filled her mind. Images of boyfriends who had not been as kind as Haymitch flooded back as well, joining the Peacekeepers, until she was surrounded by men and women on all sides, the memories of a thousand blows echoing on her body.

The next thing she knew she was on the couch, Haymitch holding her, looking into her eyes. “Effie? Effie, say something.”

She focused on his face and tears began to well out of her eyes. She reached up to wipe them away and felt her nose running. This was the kind of crying she hated to do; not elegant crying that could be concealed with a bit of makeup, but the sort of ugly crying that stained Haymitch’s shirts and left her face puffy and red. She buried her face in his chest.

“Hey. Hey. It’s OK,” Haymitch soothed. “I’ve got you.” He rubbed the tension out of her neck and shoulders. “You know I would never, ever hurt you, right?”

Effie nodded.

“Well, unless you wanted me to,” Haymitch said, and it was such a stupid joke that Effie had to smile, a tiny watery laugh bubbling up from inside her that nevertheless made emotion well up in her chest. Of course he would never hurt her. He cared about her. And Effie… Effie cared about him too.

“Maybe later,” she said, leaning up to give him a kiss.

“It’s a date,” he said.


	5. Fifth

What had possessed Effie with the desire to feed the geese that day, Haymitch had no idea. Effie usually avoided them at all costs, even going so far as to refer to them as, “the damn ducks,” when she knew full well they were geese. But some whim or fancy had taken root in her brain and she could not be talked out of it.

“I’ve watched you do it a hundred times, Haymitch. It doesn’t look that hard. Give me the bucket.”

Full of dread, he handed it over, starting to warn her of the best way to go about it without aggravating them. But before he could open his mouth, she said, “I don’t want to hear it! Just give me a chance, OK? I can do this.”

“OK,” he said simply, resigned to keep his mouth shut for the duration no matter what he saw.

Effie reached into the bucket of leafy greens, corn, oats, peas, and bits of apple and began to call with her best imitation of Haymitch’s feeding noise. The flock came running and flapping over; Haymitch could tell she was surprised at the intensity of their arrival and that the geese were surprised to find someone other than him feeding them. A few of them wandered over to him hopefully, but he shrugged, open palmed, to show that that he wasn’t hiding anything. Some of them became agitated.

_This is starting out well_ , Haymitch thought to himself sarcastically. _You might want to start giving them the food now, princess_.

Effie was still overwhelmed by the birds, but she seemed to have come to the same conclusion. She reached into the bucket and took a large handful, tossed it on the ground near her feet. Oh, good, now they were going to be vying for the food right next to her. Haymitch tried to bite back a smirk. She reached into the bucket again, tossed another handful, too close to the first. Now they were going to be arguing about it. And that’s what immediately started to happen.

Effie started to panic and backed away, still holding the magic food bucket that was still mostly full. The geese that weren’t squabbling and growing agitated started to give chase. Haymitch was watching her struggle, unable to stop himself from laughing at this point.

“Haymitch Abernathy, you stop that laughing right this minute!” she shrieked at him and a warm bubble of emotion for her filled his chest unexpectedly. Effie abandoned the bucket and began to sprint across the yard, geese following her every move. It was too much for him.

“Effie, I… think you should come inside,” he called. Then, to himself, he thought, amazed, _What did I almost say?_


	6. Effie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mental illness and thoughts of suicide/self-harm.

Effie had been feeling so overwhelmed lately. Things were just too much for her. Her past, the future, the way Annie’s little Finny was starting to ask questions about the Games, and life in general. The weight of the world, of all of the children she had killed, was on her shoulders once more and she was filled with guilt and self-loathing. She spent her days curled up on the couch downstairs, wrapped in blankets, TV off, staring blankly at nothing, or TV on, not seeing the images playing across the screen. She was losing weight again. She couldn’t bring herself to eat; it was too much work. She could barely force herself to drink. If not for Haymitch she wouldn’t be bathing or brushing her teeth either. She was completely incapable of functioning like an adult right now.

She knew she was scaring the kids, was scaring Haymitch. She wouldn’t talk to Dr. Aurelius and that scared them, too. She _was_ still taking the medicine he had prescribed her, but Haymitch had relayed back to her that the doctor thought it had stopped working. Well, obviously. When Haymitch asked if she wanted to hurt herself, she wouldn’t answer. She wasn’t sure. That was probably a bad thing.

She was staring into the distance when she heard the front door open. Haymitch had been over at the kids’ for a couple of hours, trusting her, he said, to stay well in that time. She’d nodded and then dozed off for a little while. As he approached the living room, a smell reached her nose. A familiar smell, but one that seemed out of place in District 12.

Haymitch rounded the corner and sat next to her on the sofa. ”You doing any better since I left?”

Effie shrugged.

“Have you moved at all?”

“No.”

“That’s OK. I brought you a surprise.” He handed her a medium-sized white cardboard box, the kind that came from Peeta’s bakery, the sort of box he put pastries in for his customers. Effie wasn’t hungry, but she opened it anyway.

Inside sat half a dozen lemon cupcakes with pink frosting and sprinkles, just exactly like the ones her nanny had let her have as a child, just exactly like the ones her mother had told her she was never allowed to eat. She looked down at them, looked up at Haymitch, blinked back tears.

“How… how did you know?”

“You mentioned once that these were your favorite. I think it was back in 67 or 68. Before Jo’s Games but after Finnick’s.”

“And you remembered? After all this time?” Her throat felt kind of tight and she wasn’t sure what emotion she was feeling, exactly. Several, maybe.

“Of course.”

“But lemons aren’t even in season! They have to be made with fresh lemons.”

“Yeah, it was a real pain to track some down. But Peeta followed the recipe exactly. Do you want to try one?”

She did. For the first time in weeks, she was hungry for something. She selected the one that stood out most to her, peeled the paper off, and took a bite. Instantly, she was back in her childhood, back when she was happy, before everything was so complicated, before the weight of the world had settled in.

She finished the cupcake and realized she was crying. She did what would have absolutely appalled her mother and what her nanny had never minded - licked the frosting from her fingers.

“Thank you, Haymitch. I love you.” She froze. What she had meant to say was, “I love _them_ ,” but the other thing slipped out.

Haymitch froze too. “Must be pretty damn good cupcakes,” he said, recovering first. “Can I have one?”

“Y-yes. Help yourself,” Effie offered. Then, she found her footing. “I mean it, Haymitch. I love you.” There. She’d said it on purpose that time.

“You don’t have to tell me, princess,” he said through a mouthful of cupcake. “I already know.”


	7. Haymitch

Haymitch and Effie were arguing again. Effie had a job offer in the Capitol, a “once in a lifetime opportunity,” she said, to work with an up-and-coming new stylist, Leo Wilder, to design and model her own line of clothes and accessories.

“Leo’s a genius, Haymitch. You should see some of his sketches! Cinna was one of his primary inspirations. I would have thought you’d be happy to see his legacy live on!” she argued, waving a notebook at him.

“I don’t care if he’s inspired by the man in the moon, Effie! I think he should find somebody else to model his designs,” Haymitch countered, waving the notebook away. He’d already seen the sketches. They were superb, exactly the sort of thing he’d expect from somebody who had studied Cinna. He could understand why Effie was tempted.

“Why does it bother you so much for me to take this job? Don’t you want me to be happy?” she asked, hurt.

“ _Yes_ , I want you to be happy, but not at our expense! What about _my_ happiness? I love you! I want you to stay here!” he exclaimed, not able to fully articulate why he was so upset at the idea of Effie spending a week in the Capitol every month.

She blinked at him. “What did you say?” she asked.

“I want you to stay here,” he repeated.

“No, the other thing,” Effie said.

“I don’t want you to be happy at our expense?” Haymitch was getting confused. Why was Effie acting weird all of a sudden?

“You said you loved me,” she said, sounding like she didn’t believe she had heard it.

“No, I didn’t,” Haymitch contradicted. Then he paused. “Wait,” he said, thinking back quickly. “I said that out loud?” He had _not_ meant to say that out loud.

“Yes,” Effie said, “You definitely said it out loud.” She was starting to grin a bit. “No take backs.” She grinned wider.

“I don’t wanna take it back,” he said quietly. Just because he hadn’t meant to say it didn’t mean he hadn’t meant it.

“Good.” She moved to close the gap between them. She took his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers, then leaned up and kissed him, deeply.

“This doesn’t mean you won, you know,” she said. “You’ve just distracted me for the moment. I’ll come back with another airtight argument that you can’t refuse.” Her hand slid down to his backside.

“Does it have to be every month?” Haymitch asked distractedly. This might actually be Effie’s “airtight argument” right here - to divert his attention so thoroughly that he would agree to anything.

“No, just for the first couple of months, while we get the line up and running. Then it might be for a weekend here and there.” Her hand squeezed. What? What was she saying? All he could focus on was her hand on his butt and her mouth moving. He leaned down to kiss her again. Damn, she was good at winning arguments when she fought dirty.

“Um… Could I come with you?” Haymitch asked, not really thinking about what that might mean. Her eyes were the most brilliant shade of blue.

“ _You’d_ want to come to the _Capitol_ with me while I did the shoots?” Effie asked incredulously.

“Um, yeah, sure, why not?” Haymitch said, and he realized vaguely what he was agreeing to but he didn’t care. He could see the freckles that were not quite covered up by her makeup - he loved those freckles.

“Well, as I said before, no take backs!” she said with her finger pointed at his nose. Then she tapped it gently. ”You promised.”

“Yeah, I promise,” he said. “Anything for my girl, right?”

“For the love of your life?” Effie said, teasing.

“For the love of my life,” Haymitch repeated seriously, brushing the hair out of her eyes. They kissed once more, deeply, much longer this time, hungry for each other. Finally they broke apart.

“No take backs,” she whispered for a third time, looking deep within his eyes.

“Never,” he replied. “You will always be my princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the last chapter! Thank you for reading! I appreciate the comments and kudos. This was my first chapter fic and longest fic I've ever written since starting to write fic in 2008! Be proud of me. :)


End file.
